


The Other Side of Betrayal

by Whoareyou0000



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alpha Raphael Santiago, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Raphael Santiago, Bad Friend Clary Fray, Camille Belcourt Being An Asshole, Clan Leader Raphael Santiago, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago, Homoromantic Raphael Santiago, Hurt Simon Lewis, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insecure Simon Lewis, M/M, Magnus Bane & Raphael Santiago Friendship, Manipulative Camille Belcourt, Mute Simon, Muteness, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, POV Raphael Santiago, Protective Alec Lightwood, Protective Raphael Santiago, Raphael Santiago Has Feelings, Raphael Santiago Speaks Spanish, Raphael Santiago Takes Care of Simon Lewis, Shadowhunters Mistreating Downworlders, Simon Lewis Loves Raphael Santiago, Simon Lewis Needs a Hug, Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago Fluff, Vampire Simon Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28244616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoareyou0000/pseuds/Whoareyou0000
Summary: Raphael finds Simon alone in a cell, covered in his own blood, and hissing at all who come near. Most worrisome, the fledgling has gone completely mute. Retrieving the pieces of his shattered heart, the alpha clan leader carries his baby home because he of all people understands that betrayal is a wound that can only be healed through love.
Relationships: Simon Lewis/Raphael Santiago
Comments: 5
Kudos: 247





	The Other Side of Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic contains referenced nonconsensual blood-drinking and the aftermath of such trauma. Please take caution if this is a trigger for you. 
> 
> Note: This might be the darkest Shadowhunter's fic I've ever written, but I stand by my pledge to always give Simon and Raphael a happy ending. Also, Raphael is an alpha who has strong instincts to protect and care for his fledgling-but he is still asexual and I've altered the traditional Alpha/Omega dynamics to fit.

Magnus’ Boy shows up at the hotel on the fifth night since the betrayal.

“Look, Raphael. I know you hate us, and we hate you, but something is wrong with Simon and I think you're the only one who can help.” 

The clan leader sighs, pinning the door at just enough of a crack to display the Shadowhunter’s solemn, flat affect and general annoyance at his mere presence. He doesn’t get what Magnus sees in the Nephilim. That’s beside the point, though. 

“The fledgling isn’t my problem anymore. He made his choice.” 

A brave hand grips his arm and stops the door from slamming shut. His fangs pop, ready to defend, and then he smells it.

Desperation. Fear. A hint of caramel that burrows under his skin. 

With a subtle, reluctant nod, he allows an explanation. Alec obliges, speaking as if he’s forever out of breath. 

“Something happened when we let her out. Since then, Simon stares at the wall all day and night with this blank look on his face. He's barely eaten, he never sleeps, and...”

Raphael, a cold chill running down his spine, spits out the next question.

“Dios...and what?”

“He hasn’t spoken at all. Not since Camille. I think she hurt him again.”

……..

It’s a dark night. The moon, nonexistent. Every instinct tells Raphael to use his vampire speed to get to his troubled fledgling at once.

Not _his,_ though. It’s a necessary, but pointless reminder. His inner alpha has already decided otherwise. 

Alec, still so mundane, slows him down. He growls, cracks his knuckles against the seats of the beaten car, fidgets until it reminds him of a boy with big nerdy glasses. To break the mounting silence, and dissipate the expanding lump in his throat, he interrogates.

“What happened? I need to know everything.” 

Alec exhales, making an easy left. The streets are as close to dead as they’ll get in the city, headlights highlighting the wrinkles and pockmarks in everything. Flaws that forever complicate.

“Clary and Simon went with Camille to her library to get the Book of the White. Then, she turned on them. Clary was knocked unconscious. Simon was alone with her until Jace got to them. When he did...”

Alec’s voice cracks, thick with something. A bus speeds by, knocking the wind from the smaller car. They veer to the left and then back again. Raphael slams a heated fist against the armrest, breaking it in two. 

“Spit it out! I don’t have time for guessing games.” 

Neither does Simon, he fears. 

Alec glares at the damage to his leather interior and continues. 

“There was blood, a lot of blood, but he didn’t have any open wounds. Jace said that he was curled up in the corner, just rocking back and forth. He wouldn’t let anyone near him until Clary woke up. Even then, she had to coax him into the car.” He makes a sharp turn onto a side street. “When we try to touch him, he snarls and once, when Clary did anyway, he screamed like it burned and shoved her to the floor.” 

Raphael takes a long blink and swallows the gathering lump, his next words hoarse with its remains.

“And Camille?” 

The Institute comes into view, towering over its surroundings like a judgmental god. Its presence stiffens Raphael and settles the other man just enough to get a complete thought. 

“She was gone when Jace arrived. We’ve tried asking Simon but, we’ve gotten nowhere.”

Asking or demanding, he wants to spat. Instead, he sighs and nearly rubs his eyes out of their sockets. The worry coagulates in his gut like a spoiled meal. The closer they get to the fledgling, the more his instincts rage. 

“Why are _you_ coming to me? Why isn’t The Redhead here instead?” 

“The Clave forbid us from seeking outside council.” Alec stiffens. Raphael cocks his head, intrigued. “I’ll be punished if they find out that I came to you, but I can’t watch him like this any longer. He’s suffering. It’s not right. He needs someone who he trusts.” 

Raphael snarls, catching his reflection in the passenger side window. 

Funny thing about trust, it's the beginning of every betrayal. 

“Just get me to him, Lightwood.”

……..

The door slams behind Raphael, officially locking him inside.

It’s bad. 

The room, more like a cell really, stinks of blood. It’s the sweetness of Simon mixed with the bitterness of Camille to form a medicinal scent that makes Raphael fight a gag. It’s dark with the windows blacked out, but, unlike Dumort, this tomb contains no evidence of life. The gray stone walls, void of anything identifying its occupant, add to the despondence within. It holds only a small bedside table and a cot, upon which lies a disturbingly still lump of blankets. 

Raphael steps forward, purposefully crunching upon the shredded glass that once made a lamp. It’s enough to alert the boy beneath. The blanket unfurls to reveal the brown mop, dried fluids plastering strands against his forehead. A warning hiss pierces the silence and then a set of wide dark eyes lighten the room. 

Raphael recognizes the raw fear behind the fangs. His protective, alpha energy instinctually rises.

“Fledgling, calm.” 

Simon gives a conceding whine and then shrinks back into the blanket. It swallows his shoulder and tucks too aggressively around his neck. Raphael suppresses the anger that produces and wanders quietly around the space, pretending to study everything except the boy who is still wearing the same blood-caked clothing from days before. His hair and skin are sticky with it. 

Raphael’s fists tighten. He could rip the heads from every Shadowhunter. Instead, he fights to remain calm for the fledgling who needs his alpha. 

“Magnus’ boy tells me you’re not talking. I had to see that for myself.” 

It’s a test to see how much of _his_ Simon remains. The responding sniffle is progress. He perches himself against the wall and watches the shaking vampire for any further signs of life. Simon picks at the blanket’s edge, frayed just enough to show that he’s not been entirely absent the whole time. 

“Wow, a whole minute without you interrupting me with a nerdy, obscure reference. That must be a record.” Simon blinks, stills. Raphael sighs. “I’m not going to hurt you, fledgling. You can talk to me.” 

Two more minutes go by without movement from the cot. Simon isn’t even breathing, a detail that unnerves Raphael despite his knowledge of vampire anatomy. The scent of fear is receding, though, replaced with a quiet resignation. This allows him to approach the bed. Hands in his pockets, Raphael makes the two steps into four and, once there, observes the unmoving lump carefully while he lowers himself onto the hard, metal edge. Simon tenses. Raphael rests his shoulders against the brick and focuses on the far wall. He feels the boy’s eyes on him, waiting, ready to defend. His inner alpha responds with a quiet purr, which loosens the fledglings tightened fetal pose. 

It’s bothersome, this silence. Raphael fills it. 

“Lily made those blood velvet cupcakes you told her about. Elliot ate too many and got himself sick. Grace’s guitar lessons are coming along. She’s almost through ‘I Shot the Sheriff.’ I’m convinced you taught her that song on purpose just to annoy me.” 

He chances a side-eye to find the boy staring blankly at the ceiling. Now that they’re touching, he notices the shivering. Vampires don’t feel cold. This isn’t physical. It’s something far worse. 

“Your room is still a mess. I refuse to clean it. It’s not my responsibility, it’s yours.” 

Simon curls further into a tight ball of anxiety, but his eyes now train on his clan leader. It’s something. It’s enough for now.

“Whatever this is, whatever she did, we need to talk about it.” Raphael swallows another accumulating lump, places a protective hand on Simon’s blanketed knee, and makes a decision. “First, you need to be cleaned up and fed. Then, we’ll deal with the rest.” 

He stands in one fluid motion, crosses to the door, and waves out the window for his release.

A prison. They put Simon in a fucking prison. 

Well, not anymore. Not on his watch.

……..

“Five days?” Raphael corners The Redhead, ignoring the threats coming from Dumb Blonde and Warrior Princess. “He’s been locked in a cell, covered in filth, for five days and you just now call for help? He could have died, again, and you took your time interrogating him first?”

Alec steps away, his reluctance wafting off him in waves. Clary stubbornly meets Raphael’s glare. “We had to find Camille. It was important.”

Raphael about-faces, scattering them all to their corners with one quick growl. 

_“You_ let her out! _You_ let her near Simon. _You_ locked him in that room, in pain, so you could cover up your mistake.”

“We didn’t mean to hurt him.” Fray whines, her face a slew of tears and heat. Raphael takes a step in her direction, only to be intercepted by Dumb Blonde.

“He attacked Clary. We couldn’t take any chances.” 

Raphael roars. It reverberates off the walls and all take a step back.

“Yes, of course, once again only your lives matter.” He cocks his head at The Redhead as she clutches her weapon. “You never mean to do anything, do you? Yet Simon’s always the one to suffer for it. I’m taking him back home. If you care at all about his wellbeing, don’t try to stop me.”

They don’t. Raphael marches back into the small cell, cradles Simon’s near-catatonic form against his chest, and carries him towards the entrance. He gives the Shadowhunters one last demand.

“Don’t come knocking again until you have Camille. You let her out. You figure out how to get her back in.”

……..

The reaction as they enter the doors of Dumort is one of collective relief.

Simon is a traitor. He betrayed them all. It’s true. Yet, he’s still the clan’s baby and their vampiric instincts tell them to protect the baby, even when he touches something he’s not supposed to. 

The relief is immediately followed by concern, of course, when they notice his serious condition. Lily is pinned to Raphael’s side while he travels the staircase up to his suite. The others hang far enough behind to eavesdrop. 

“Was it Camille?” 

Simon hisses, buries himself in Raphael’s chest. The clan leader clutches tighter to his fledgling and simply nods. “Leave us for now. I’ll keep you apprised.” 

The doors slam, lock behind. The familiar scents of the suite dull Simon’s edge just enough for Raphael to comfortably set him down on top of the toilet while he works the bathtub’s numerous knobs. The running water drowns out the silence as Raphael returns and coaxes his glazed over eyes up. 

“I’m going to clean you up, but first I need to remove your clothing. Is that alright?” 

Simon whimpers, tenses, and pulls the blanket tighter around his shaking form. Raphael’s fingers find the back of his neck and give a gentle, protective, squeeze to calm. “Shh, baby. How about you remove your clothes and I’ll turn my back?” Simon’s chaotic breaths settle with Raphael's reassurance. “You'll feel much better if you wash. I'll be close by if you need me.” 

Simon swallows, bites at his chapped lips with a stray fang, and finally gives a single nod. 

Raphael stands and turns away, remaining close enough for Simon to reach him, as promised. He distracts himself with the tub, checking the temperature of the water and pulling a fresh washcloth from the cabinet while listening to the whoosh of fabric over skin. He squeaks the knobs to off when the toilet lid clunks again. He glances back to see Simon surrounded by the frayed blanket, his clothes a pile of red muck on the floor. “Do you need help getting into the water?” 

Simon shakes his head and stands on trembling legs. Raphael follows the fledgling for the few steps to the porcelain edge and waits for him to glance back before averting his gaze again. There is a gentle plop and then the blanket is tossed aside as well. 

Raphael hands him the washcloth, keeping his eyes down, and busies himself with removing the blood-soaked garments. He places them into the trash and drops the bag down the shoot in the hallway. The scent of that bloody mixture alone is a trigger, enough to make him want to eviscerate the demon behind this attack. 

The water splashes periodically. Raphael allows the silence in-between. It’s not the time to force anything. 

About fifteen minutes later, the splashing intensifies. Raphael returns to the bathroom, eyes everywhere but the naked fledgling, and offers a towel along with a pair of silk pajamas from his closet. Simon accepts them, wordlessly, and dresses himself. 

Raphael, back turned, sneers at the bathtub that resembles a crime scene and swallows a growl, his alpha instincts now clawing to break free. 

Because that much blood could only come from an artery and there is a fading scar on Simon’s neck in the shape of fangs.

……..

Simon drinks one glass of blood, his fledgling instincts trumping his usual defiance, and falls asleep in the clan leader’s bed. His body curls so tightly beneath the heavy comforter that he takes up only a small corner of the king-sized mattress. Raphael’s eyes never close. He’s watching the boy from a chair across the room, cheek resting on a tight fist, when his cell phone vibrates.

Magnus:  
_Alec told me about Sheldon. How is he?_

Raphael:  
_Did you know?_

Magnus:  
_No, son. Alec has been banished to the sofa until he makes this right._

Raphael:  
_He can’t speak. Or he won’t. I don’t know which yet._

Magnus:  
_Shall I portal over? If its physical, I can help._

Raphael:  
_Not now. This is going to take time._

Magnus:  
_Whatever he needs, my boy, just ask._

Simon whines, stirs, but never fully wakes. Raphael climbs into the bed to provide comfort and the boy reflexively crawls into his arms. The clan leader whispers reassurances into the fledgling’s ear as he presses further against his chest.

“Esta bien bebe. Estoy aquí. Ella se ha ido. Estás a salvo conmigo. Siempre.”

Raphael gives in around sunset with a hand tangled in Simon’s hair and a prayer on his tongue.

……..

The first thing Raphael sees when he wakes is a pair of saucer-shaped eyes watching him with no readable expression.

They’re only inches apart, both lying on their respective sides, sharing a pillow. Simon is breathing, but just barely. His eyelids fight against blinking and his lips part slightly. Raphael waits, hoping to hear a lively ramble, proof that he’s been mistaken, but soon they close without so much as a sigh. 

It’s heart-wrenching, but Raphael doesn’t have it in him to push. Instead, he raises an eyebrow and offers a question.

“Hungry?” 

Simon coils his legs up until he’s reached a fetal position. He buries his face in his knees and gives a barely recognizable nod. Raphael takes slow, calculated movements until he’s up and off the bed.

“I’ll warm some blood.” 

While the cool fluid heats and liquifies over the hotplate, the mattress creaks. By the time it produces steam, the fledgling is sitting up and studying the clan leader. Raphael feels his attention like a weighted blanket. He doesn’t acknowledge it, though, for the same reason a nature photographer doesn’t acknowledge a butterfly. Instead, he talks while filling two identical mugs with blood and only one with a hot cocoa packet.

“I was at the bodega the other day. Roj asked about you. He wanted to know when you’d be coming back to watch Bollywood with him and his granddaughter.” Raphael casts a playful smirk over his shoulder and feels the fledgling relax. “I didn’t even know you had money to shop at the bodega. Or liked Bollywood. I’m not even sure I know what Bollywood is, but Roj had only good things to say.” Simon shifts, swallows audibly. “He ordered extra hot chocolate for your next visit. You really do make friends everywhere, don’t you idiota?” 

He doesn’t expect to turn around and find Simon hugging his knees and so _defensive._

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to kill you.” He makes slow progress to the bed and sets Simon’s mug carefully within his reach. “If that’s what I wanted, I would have left you to the Shadowhunters.” 

Simon’s eyes fall, his face a dejected, crumpled mess. It’s clear he’s thinking about The Redhead, her betrayal of whatever it is they call their relationship. Raphael thinks for a moment that it serves him right, an eye for an eye as the Bible says, but then takes it back when he senses the pain just beneath the protective case of limbs.

The bed sinks beneath Raphael and he sips from his mug. A siren screams outside. The sweet scent of chocolate wafts from Simon’s untouched breakfast. “What they did to you was wrong, Simon. What Camille did…” 

He lets that one linger, bait for a conversation not yet matured. 

“You don’t need to talk. I won’t force you. However, I must know if this is an injury to be healed or…if you just need time. Should I call Magnus?” 

It’s minute, subtle, but Simon does shake his head. 

It’s enough. 

“Okay, then let me know when you’re ready.” 

Raphael circles around and takes the other side of the bed, a book already in hand. Several silent seconds pass before Simon retrieves his mug and burrows back under the blankets, sending a wordless ‘thank you’ with a contented sigh. 

It’s a long game, but Raphael has eternity.

……..

Life at Dumort doesn’t stop for anyone, including a traumatized fledgling.

There is still paperwork to be signed, bills to be paid, and meetings with other clans. Raphael carries the stacks of pages into his suite, fills them out quietly at his desk while Simon sleeps on and off. He holds meetings via his laptop, something the fledgling showed him _before,_ while Simon folds himself onto the sofa and stares blankly out the window into the night. 

He says that it’s to keep an eye on the traitor, ensure the safety of his clan. Mostly, though, he’s just waiting for the break. Simon will speak again eventually, or he will fall apart. Likely both at the same time. When that happens, he’ll be a danger to himself. 

It’s Raphael’s responsibility to prevent any further harm.

So, when Raphael notices that Simon is not staring out the window anymore, that his eyes are back on the clan leader, he offers a subtle, gentle smile.

When he gets one in return, so quick that he’d have missed it if he blinked, he picks up the laptop and decides it’s a start. 

“Dios knows I could never get you to listen to me before. Suddenly, you’re the dutiful fledgling.” He makes slow progress to the sitting area, adopting a casual pace. When Simon remains relaxed, he lowers himself to the neighboring cushion and rests the computer on his lap. “I think I preferred you rambling on about your stupid Bunny and Spike.” 

Then, it happens. Simon’s lip quirks at the corner and his eyes light up. It’s over and done in half a second, but it does happen. It resolves some of that congealed guilt in the pit of Raphael’s stomach and gives him something resembling hope. 

Raphael raises his eyebrows in a friendly challenge. “What’s so funny, idiota?” 

Simon ducks his head, suddenly shy, and then reaches forward towards Raphael’s computer. He hands it over, head cocked. The fledgling opens the screen, clicks around, and types. Then, with a sheepish shrug, he hands it back with three words written in an otherwise blank document. 

_Not Bunny. Buffy._

Raphael’s eyes roll, but he can’t keep from playing along in a rare moment of levity. 

“It’s still a ridiculous name for a vampire slayer.”

Simon snorts. Carefully, and filled with hope, Raphael slides the computer back into Simon’s reach. 

_That’s the point. It’s ironic._

Raphael scoffs. “In that case, Spike should be called Stake.”

Simon’s stomach seizes. He lets out a loud sniffle and violently shakes his head, now demanding the return of the computer. Raphael scoots closer until their shoulders touch, allowing him to read the words as they’re typed. 

_Spike is a punk rock badass. Stake is the balding guy who drank from a flask at the annual vamp picnic and did that creepy Fonzie pose when you introduced us._

Raphael chokes on a laugh and leans a little more into the fledgling’s warmth.

“That’s Jake, he’ll be happy to hear he has a nickname, though. Dios, he does lay it on thick with his Greaser look.” 

Just like that, clouds cover the sunshine. Simon’s shoulders drop with the return of the previous weight. He fingers the hem of his Henley shirt, formerly Raphael’s, and his smile fades. Angling the laptop away, he writes something else, something that takes several moments of consideration, before handing it back.

_Why are you helping me? Aren’t you upset that I betrayed you?_

Raphael thinks on this question, decides he’s not ready to give a complete answer yet.

“That doesn’t matter right now, you’re my fledgling. The clan has forgiven you and we take care of our own.” He thinks, swallows, and takes a chance. “I know what she did to you, Simon. It’s punishable by death and when she’s found, I’ll enact that sentence happily. I just need you to confirm it. Can you do that for me?”

It’s slow this time, like a stop-motion play. Simon’s body slumps, his face shrivels, and the light that flipped on behind his eyes burns out completely. He turns to the laptop one last time and drags his fingers lazily across its keys. With the most heartbreaking sniffle, he returns it to Raphael and then curls back into the sofa, choosing this time to stare at the far wall.

Raphael reads the words and his chest aches with the agony of them.

_I’m sorry, Rapha. It’s all my fault. I wish I had stayed with you._

……..

It’s two weeks later, just before sunrise, when a knock echoes across the suite’s empty walls.

Raphael is in bed reading while Simon watches some show about cowboys in space on his laptop. This comfortable routine means that Simon can sometimes be _Simon,_ through text of course, and Raphael can monitor his progress from a safe distance. 

They haven’t spoken of Camille since that last conversation and Simon refuses to acknowledge his trauma, though he remains protective of his now-healed neck. 

The knocks, though, seem to halt time completely. Only the smart-talking ship’s captain continues on his monologue while everyone and everything else in the room stills. Raphael threads comforting fingers through Simon’s hair on his way up and approaches the door with caution. 

It’s Lily and he tenses.

“Raphael, the Shadowhunters are here to see you.” 

He hears what she doesn’t say. 

They have Camille.

Raphael takes an unneeded breath and then turns back to the fledgling, who has since closed the laptop and vacated the bed, one hand wrapped around his carotid pulse-point. The panic is rising from him in waves. Raphael clears his voice of any doubt and takes the few steps back to the boy, cupping a protective hand over the back of his neck- an alpha move that always calms. 

“Stay, fledgling. You’re safe here. I won’t be long.” 

Simon melts into his touch and, though his color remains drained, he gives a quick nod and pads carefully back to the bed. Raphael throws a jacket over his gray t-shirt and black jeans and meets Lily in the hallway. She reads his mind before he even speaks.

“I’ll stay up here, just in case.”

Raphael swallows a thickening lump and places a grateful hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

In the lobby, its chaos. Alec is heading his pack, with the Redhead, the Dumb Blonde, and the Warrior Princess carrying an incapacitated Camille through the front doors. Raphael stops them there and walks straight up to the leader. 

“I said to knock, Shadowhunter, not to bring her into my hotel.” He sniffs at her body. “Alive.” He points in the direction of the basement. “Downstairs, now. I won’t have her putting my clan in danger.”

The long winding staircase leads to an expansive basement filled with coffins of various shapes and sizes. Along the perimeter rests freezers filled with a blood supply to last the clan months. Upon the walls hang iron chains as well as various weapons used in training or the rare epic battle. Raphael leads them past all of these landmarks until they reach a cell made from iron and surrounded by cement walls. Tight rows of carvings fill the concrete from ceiling to floor, all previously blessed with Magnus’ magic. A spotlight illuminates the the jail in uncomfortable neon. Alec swings the door open and the others drop the vampire onto the floor. They quickly vacate the cell and the door slams shut behind. 

“Are you sure this is secure?” Alec talks down into his ear. 

Raphael rolls his eyes. “Go ask your boyfriend, if you have any doubts.” He steps as close to the bars as possible, noting the healthy condition of her body. “Where did you find her?”

Dumb Blonde answers, haughty with his accomplishment. “The Clave tracked her signature to an old warehouse in Harlem. Then we ambushed her with Jesus juice. It was epic.”

Raphael growls. Alec takes a step back. The Redhead doesn’t get the hint.

“Where’s Simon? I want to see him.” 

Raphael about-faces and sends a hiss in her direction that makes the other two pull their weapons. Alec holds out an arm, signaling to his people to stand down. Reluctantly, they listen. 

“Simon is recovering in a safe place. You won’t be seeing him today or ever, if I have my way. What you did is unforgivable and if you don’t comply with this rule, then my guards will do what’s necessary to make you comply.”

Alec takes her arm. She yanks it away. “He’s my friend. You can’t do that!”

Raphael paces along the cage bars, never dragging his eyes from the body within. Every instinct screams that he kill this evil thing at once. Still, he needs to know everything in order to protect Simon, and it’s become apparent that the fledgling may never tell him outright. 

“It’s funny, isn’t it? That I, a monster, treat my enemies better than you treat your friends.” He gives a quick nod to Alec and then addresses all of them. “Go, all of you. I’ll take care of the rest.” 

They do, at their leader’s urging. Then Raphael is alone with a monster and a prayer.

……..

Camille stirs just minutes after the sun breaches the horizon.

First her perfectly manicured fingers flutter, then her foot, still hanging onto a red pump, jerks. Lastly blood-red lips part into a sneer just as her eyes pop open. 

Raphael wastes no time in tossing a sprinkle of holy water in her direction, his own hand protected with a thick, leather glove. 

She hisses, fangs exposed, and charges at her former second. He’s only inches away when the bars stop her, steam rising from where her hands connect to iron, and she falls back onto the floor with a shriek. 

“Raphael.” It comes out in a growl. “I knew it was you. You never could stand to see a woman in power.” 

He snorts, hands casually at his sides as he paces back and forth in front of the cage. 

“Then you should know that your gender has no effect on me.” He carefully discards the small, plastic bottle, it’s very presence making him sweat. “What does matter, is how you treat your own kind.” 

She pushes herself up to a sitting position, eyes glowing red in the basement’s blackness, and smiles in a way that makes Raphael’s hair stand on end.

“You mean Simon.” Removing her remaining heel, she stands, and brushes lint from her tight, red dress. “Sweet, sweet little Simon. Oh, but he tastes so _yummy.”_ Each step is calculated to avoid the spots of holy water still steaming upon the ground. “You understand, though. You’ve been wanting to lap him up since the day you brought him home.” 

Raphael cringes, urging his fangs to remain dormant. She persists. “Don’t deny it, darling. You have a softness for the boy.” Red fingernails approach the space between the bars and reach for his chest in a come-hither sort of way. “Let me guess, he ran to you for help and you actually thought that meant something. For a man with no sexual attraction, you certainly are vulnerable to a pouty face.” 

Raphael lets a teasing smile slip when he’s just out of her reach. “I’m asexual, not heartless.” He trails carefully back towards the steps. “Tell me, did you hold him down while you drank your fill? Or did you just use your wiles?”

She tests the bars, dragging the heel of her shoe across them. “Well, it’s no fun if they don’t struggle, is it?” A spark ignites and then dissipates just as quickly. “Oh, but he did cry, whimper, beg me stop. I do love when they beg. It puts me right over the edge.” 

Raphael looks away, his nostrils flaring and body trembling with rage. He saunters to the staircase and is quickly joined by Elliot and three other high-ranking clan leaders on the screen of his cell phone. “Did you get that?” 

Elliot nods. “Yes, boss. We got it all.” The talking heads each give their own conclusion of guilt, ready to back Raphael through any backlash from the Clave. 

“Good.” He swallows blood from his own tongue, his fangs fully out and demanding vengeance. “Camille Belcourt, you have been convicted of the crime of drinking from a nonconsenting fledgling. This crime is punishable by death. Do all agree to this sentence?” 

The clan leaders go through, one by one, condemning the vampire. Camille shakes her head, grips the bars, and falls back to the ground once again. 

“No. You can’t. You’d be nothing without me!”

“You broke the accords. We can and we will.” Then Raphael turns and follows Elliot up the stairs. At the top he hits the switch that opens the windows, streaming sunlight into the dank cell and igniting the bitch who assaulted _his_ fledgling. 

After washing his hands clean, Raphael returns to his suite with renewed hope.

……..

Simon is not in the bed.

He’s not on the sofa or huddled behind Raphael’s laptop. 

When Raphael does find the fledgling, he’s quivering and curled up in the far corner of the dry bathtub.

Raphael does not hesitate, climbs right into the remaining porcelain space, and opens his arms. Simon crawls to him at once, burying his face in the clan leader’s neck. A warm stream of bloody tears stains them both. Raphael just kisses the boy’s head, allows the mess to accumulate. 

Then, the baby chokes out his first words, broken and hoarse.

“I’m sorry, Rapha.” 

In the awe of that sound, that beautiful, heartbreaking sound, Raphael wonders what he could ever need to apologize for. It takes a moment for him to recall the betrayal. In the midst of everything else, it feels like a decades-old wrong. One long since absolved. 

“That's in the past pequeño.” The fledgling trembles even harder. “She’s gone. She won’t hurt you again.” 

He nods into Raphael’s shoulder. “I know, I watched her leave from the window.” 

Raphael, suddenly concerned, noses at the boy until he raises bloodshot eyes. His lips form a confused pout and he latches onto the leader with tight fists. He speaks in pained whispers, his voice still so raw. 

“I thought Clary was my friend. I told her what Camille did to me and she…she didn’t believe me. She said I was being dramatic, that it couldn’t be the same as…you know. If she didn’t care, I thought no one would. Especially not you, after the really bad thing I did. I thought maybe, you’d say I deserved it. Maybe I did deserve it?”

At that, Raphael growls. He holds Simon’s face with both of his hands and urges eye contact. Every word is chosen carefully, spoken in just the right tone, authoritative and yet soft. 

“Drinking blood from a nonconsenting vampire goes against every moral and legal code that we have as a species. It’s even more despicable to do such a thing to a fledgling. It _is_ the same as sexual assault and nothing you could ever do makes you deserving of it. _Nothing._ Camille knew all of that and she hurt you anyway. For that reason, we forfeited her life.” 

A drop of blood leaves a trail from Simon’s eye down to Raphael’s thumb. He carefully brushes it aside. Simon gasps, leaning into the touch. 

“It took me longer than it should have to understand, baby, but now I do. You’re not a traitor. In fact, you’re loyal to your own detriment. You just hadn’t figured out where to put that loyalty yet. You tried to help a friend and she turned her back on you when you needed her most.” 

“You didn’t, though.” Simon takes interest in Raphael’s t-shirt, tracing the newly acquired blood stains with evident concern. “I expected to die in that room. I’ve never felt so…broken. Then you came and put me back together...again.”

He spreads his thumbs, wiping away any additional tears and revealing a wonderful, careful smile. 

“You’re _my_ fledgling. I’ll always come for you.”

Those big brown eyes suddenly find Raphael’s and they’re warm, sweet, and inviting. There is a trace of the old Simon there, the beginning of a nicer, happier ending. His fingers move down Raphael’s shirt to the hem, which he clutches nervously.

“What does it mean when you say I’m yours?” 

Raphael takes a deep, unneeded breath. It’s something he’s been pondering too. His romantic notions have always come and gone, barely noticed. Simon, however, has stuck. His alpha instincts agree, a possessive growl forming deep within. There is so much to discuss- his sexuality, Simon’s, and boundaries that aren’t ready to be crossed on both sides. 

Still, it’s an eager seed in search of sunlight, which he finds in his fledgling’s bright, hopeful eyes.

“Let’s talk about it, baby. We can decide what it means together.”

So, finally, they do.


End file.
